Whyte called Roy, and he held out the phone for everyone to hear the explanation about the tracking device he had provided. “The BEP Division created a pill that can track someone, modeled after Rooke’s own design. Theirs is different, but thanks to our people, the tracker I sent with Roy can locate Heather from a hundred miles away.” Roy turned over the black device, displaying it. “Double the amount their handhelds can pinpoint her. You’ll have the advantage. Be careful, since the one in their base beats it in range. We didn’t have enough time to copy that one. As soon as you take Heather, they’ll know, so you’ll have to be in and out. Get her back here as soon as possible. No mistakes.”
“Roger that,” Roy said. Whyte delved further into how to operate the device while Mark drove. Their convoy had split up so as not to draw suspicion. Anton, Lionel, and Sheila led half, taking a pair of Humvees and one of the RVs with them. On the interstate roads, Mark caught glimpses of the others.
“Anyone got any idea how we’re going to do this?” Valerie asked when Roy finished with Whyte. “Tracking her is all well and good, but do we camp on a hill and wait for them or what?”
“We’ll get to Appleton, Wisconsin. By then, we should pick up Heather,” Emeryl said, taking the tracker. “We’ll go ahead and ambush them outside of town, preferably somewhere with a good vantage. I’d like to bottleneck them, too.”
“How should we ambush them? Pretend one of the Humvees is broken down in the middle of the road?” Oliver suggested.
“Should probably have the Humvees to the side, already deployed,” Emeryl said. “Having them in the middle of the road, they’d spot the turrets before they got close enough. And setting up the turrets after they’ve arrived would leave our people vulnerable. We need something else.”
“How about we swipe a regular car then?”
He shook his head. “They wouldn’t fall for an empty car.”
“Put one of our people in it as bait. Make it look like they crashed. I’ll volunteer.” Oliver rubbed his hands together. “Imagine the look on their faces when I blow them away.”
“Maybe,” Emeryl said.” Although I don’t like having one of ours so close. If we have to set up far from the road, then you’d have no backup.” Emeryl scratched his head. “Besides, we’d have police looking for a car, and I think we have enough heat with you, Mark, and Lionel, don’t you?” Oliver deflated and slumped.
“Maybe get some construction signs and cones, find a lonesome road ahead of them, and put those there?” Roy chimed in.
“Whatever we do, if we can at least slow them down, we’ll have a better chance,” Valerie said.
They discussed and brainstormed, sometimes asking Mark for his opinion. He didn’t have anything to contribute. Too much of his focus was on Heather and the impending attack. There had to be a way out for the both of them. He considered stealing one of the Humvees when everyone was preoccupied, but common sense told him that everyone would stay near the armored cover and large gun.
He resigned himself to driving, enjoying the sunset in the distance as they traveled down a long, empty stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. The scene was serene and peaceful, a meadow to the left side filled with tall, waving grass.
The peace was broken by a group of motorcycles, which roared ahead of them and hogged the road. About fifteen of them, some with two riders to a cycle, jeered and pointed at the two Humvees and RV behind them. A few daredevils fell back from the group, and one braked right in front of Mark. He slammed his own brakes, throwing everyone forward.
The motorcycle drove on, and the man laughed before stopping short again, touching their bumper with the rear of the cycle. Again, Mark braked and swerved. “Problem?” Oliver asked, holding Mark’s seat. He cracked his eyes, a spurt of fire shooting out.
“No, it’s nothing,” Mark said. He tried to turn off the road into the grass, but another motorcycle blocked him. Beside the Humvee, the braking cyclist’s friends cheered him on. When the man stopped once more, Oliver’s leg straddled Mark’s and floored the gas pedal. The cyclist and Mark gasped in horror as the Humvee ran him over.
Mark stopped the Humvee for good this time and checked his rearview mirror. The cyclist was lying in front of the second Humvee, bloodied, broken, tangled in the crushed motorcycle, but alive. Mark breathed a sigh of relief and rounded on Oliver. “What did you do that for?!”
“Helping natural selection along,” he said, prying himself off Mark.
“Looks like you rattled the hornet’s nest,” Roy said. Mark turned to watch the rest of the motorcycles stop in the street. Their riders dismounted, amassing into a black shadow swarm in the fading light that raced toward them. A few passed the Humvee and helped up their friend while the rest pounded and banged on the doors, shouting curses and threats at Mark. Most wielded weapons: knives, wrenches, a couple of handguns; one aimed a shotgun at the windshield.
“They ran him over!” one shouted, beating the hood with his fist. “You ran him over!”
Oliver rolled down his window a sliver. “I don’t suppose saying, ‘Sorry, but your friend was reckless’ would help?”
“Drag them out of there!” someone yelled. “Let’s see how tough they are without their car!”
“I don’t think they want to talk,” Mark said.
Valerie slapped Oliver’s ear. “Perfect. More problems. We don’t have time for this,” she said.
“Well, we can’t exactly leave,” Emeryl said as the gang surrounded the RV and the other Humvee. “They’ll call the cops.”
Not to mention that I’m wanted, Mark thought. Then he realized how great that was. As long as they survived long enough for the police to arrive, everything would be okay.
Emeryl looked behind them at the injured cyclist and hummed. “Hey, Valerie,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”
She turned to the cyclist, hoisted up by two others. “I think so. At least get something out of this.”
He agreed. “Waste not, want not.”
“Looks like we got the perfect bait for your plan, Ollie,” she said.
“Oh, he’s alive? Great!” Oliver said. Studying his grin, Mark wondered if Oliver had actually planned for that or not. Either way disturbed him.
A knife-crazed woman tugged at Mark’s door. “Got enough sun for a blast?” Valerie asked Roy.
He studied the orange horizon for a few moments and slumped. “A small one, I suppose.”
Emeryl called to the Humvee behind them on a walkie-talkie. “Get ready for a warm-up. Be sparing with your bullets.”
“We could just knock them out. I doubt they’ll remember us,” Roy said.
“Can’t take any chances.”
He sighed and faced the sun. His eyes, nose, and mouth began to light up, and his cheeks and neck brightened to a ghostly white.
“Cover your eyes,” Valerie ordered. Mark obeyed, and between the slits in his fingers, blinding light broke through, as if he were up close to a supernova. Then it faded as quickly as it had come, and the doors opened around him. People screamed and Emeryl shouted orders to the mercenaries.
Through his bleary vision, Mark saw the motorcycle group stumbling around, blind and fleeing for their lives. Emeryl and a few mercenaries gunned down several. A biker grabbed Roy from behind, but he flipped the biker over his shoulder and into one of the others, and then knocked out another biker with a swift one-two punch. Valerie broke one woman’s arm, stealing her knife and stabbing her in the stomach. Then she threw her arm, knife extended, into a man’s back. For any that escaped the bullets, Oliver swept through with a burning blaze. Charred bodies shrieked and rolled on the ground. He caught one of the mercenaries on the arm, who shouted and patted out the flames. Oliver didn’t seem to notice and kept incinerating any still alive. In short, it was a massacre.
Mark stepped out of the Humvee. The smell of burning skin wafted into his nostrils and he doubled over, vomiting on the road. As he spat out the last chunks, a pa
ir of arms wrapped around him and held a switchblade to his throat. It was one of the cyclists who had helped the injured one. Another cyclist beside him held a pistol, aiming as Emeryl and Valerie approached.
“Get back!” the gunman said. He switched between holding the pistol to Mark’s head, and then at the others. “Back, you freaks! We’ll kill him!” The knife pressed farther into Mark’s throat. The boy rolled his eyes, dragging his feet while his captors moved backward.
Valerie picked up her arm, jerking it at the Humvee. “I’ll be in the car,” she said, climbing back in her seat. Oliver took her place beside Emeryl.
“Want me to just torch them, Mark?” Oliver asked, blinking and letting flames jet out. Mark’s stomach flopped and the two cyclists yelped, all three pulling farther away.
“No, no!” he shouted. “No, I got it.”
Emeryl touched Oliver’s shoulder. “Let him handle it. I want to see what he can do.”
Mark grabbed the blade with his bare hand and wrenched it from his neck. He fought with the man for the weapon and jammed the sharp edge at the cyclist’s arm. The blade cut the man’s forearm, who grabbed his wound. Mark punched the cyclist hard in the jaw, bringing him to his knees, and kicked him over. He snatched the switchblade and faced the gunman.
“Stay back!” the gunman shouted. Mark stepped forward and the pistol went off, striking him square in the forehead. He flicked the squashed bullet off. The stupefied gunman unloaded the entire clip into Mark, head to chest. When the gun clicked, he threw it at Mark and bolted into the meadow.
One lone shot rang out from Emeryl’s pistol and the runner was down. Then he shot the switchblade wielder and reloaded. “Not too shabby, Mark. Alright, let’s gather the bodies.”
Thirty minutes later, the motorcycle group and their motorcycles had been piled into a large dirt clearing far from the road in the meadow. Roy said a short prayer for them as Emeryl and Valerie executed any who were still breathing. The injured cyclist was loaded into the APC in the RV with his motorcycle, wailing and gnashing his teeth. “Keep him breathing,” Emeryl told his men. Roy directed the mercenaries in helping him stabilize their prisoner, staunching the blood loss as best as he could.
“Yeah, don’t go dying on us yet,” Oliver said, patting the man’s cheek. “Got an important job for you. If you want, I can cauterize some wounds.”
As Roy and Emeryl adjusted the cyclist in the RV, Mark guided Oliver to the pile of bodies and vehicles. The meadow no longer seemed serene and the grass no longer moved. The sun’s dying rays cast a bloody glow across the land and all nature seemed deathly quiet, too shocked by the brutality it had just witnessed to make a sound. “Well, you did good, Mark. Real good.”
The boy dipped his head when Oliver ruffled his hair, letting only his fingers brush the fringe. “Thanks.” He dropped Oliver’s hand as soon as they were close to the pile and stood far from him.
“What’s that sound?” Oliver asked.
Peering closer at the bodies, Mark found one person still alive. A man trapped underneath two heavier bodies and vainly trying to crawl out. “Sounds like we got a live one,” Oliver said, crouching.
“We could use him as bait,” Mark said. “Take one of the other motorcycles, make it look like they hit each other.”
“Nah, we only got room for one,” Oliver said, chewing the earpiece of his sunglasses. He held out a pistol to Mark. “Care to do the honors?”
The boy accepted the gun and Oliver set him in front. “Just aim and pull the trigger.”
The fearful cyclist begged him not to, painful tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. “Please, don’t. Help,” he said in a raspy breath. He extended his hand, stretching out for Mark’s. This all seemed very familiar to the boy and he wavered.
Mark couldn’t do this. He knew that and Oliver picked up on his hesitation. “Oh, is this your first one?” he asked. “Man, you made it through with Heather and Finster without a gun or killing anyone? That’s impressive.” He wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled his head in. “Okay, I’ll break you in. Kind of exciting, eh? I’m so proud to be here for your first.” He shook his shoulder and wiped a fake tear away. “Deep breaths. Take it easy. Practice squeezing the trigger. Pull on the inhale, release on the exhale.” He sucked in through his nostrils and blew out air until Mark copied him. “Good. Go ahead.”
“Please. I won’t tell anyone,” the cyclist said. “Please.”
As he looked down the sights, Mark couldn’t bring himself to kill him. The gun started to shift toward Oliver. Right here and now, he could end this. Take out the only immediate threat to him for miles and then steal one of the Humvees. Drifting further, the idea took definite shape in Mark’s mind. He could find Heather and the BEP Division with Roy’s tracker and escape these people, hide, and have a fighting chance. Perhaps take this last victim to the hospital. He didn’t look too wounded and could probably make it. This is the only way. Nothing short of this would work.
But even when he turned the barrel to Oliver’s smiling face, he failed to shoot. Mark aimed lower at the side of his chest. A nonlethal shot. That he could manage. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked and he examined it.
“Oops,” Oliver said, running his fingers along the gun. “Forgot to take the safety off. Right there, see?” He flipped the switch on the side up and down. “On. Off. On. Off. Now, go ahead.”
Mark took a deep breath and aimed at Oliver’s chest again. One. Two.
“Hey, hurry it up!” Valerie yelled. “We got to move!”
Oliver grabbed the gun from Mark and tucked it in his pants. “Sorry. We’ll try another day when we have more time.” He opened his eyes and set fire to the vehicles and the bodies, living and dead. The cyclist yelled as the flames engulfed him and his screams, and Oliver breathed deep. “Ah. Reminds me of a poem. Bonfires are red, nighttimes are blue, you’re dead and gone, so I don’t have to think of a rhyme for blue.” He laughed at his joke. The smell of burning flesh gagged Mark, and he stumbled back to the Humvee, Oliver trailing behind him after a minute.
For the rest of the drive, Mark insisted that Roy sit in the passenger seat. “I’ll need him to guide me when they show up on the tracker,” he said. Oliver accepted that reason and they set off. Mark tried not to look at the fire in the distance as it shrank to the size of a candle flame.
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Rogues of Overwatch Page 37
